Where The Wild Flowers Grow
by maddycharlie
Summary: "The wonderful thing about today father is that I will return to a home filled with love and what you think doesn't matter." Established relationship; Dramione. Complete.


A/N: This little one-shot just sort of sprung into my mind one day. It was such an interesting melancholy image I felt duty-bound to write it down. I haven't written anything in years so please be nice but I do appreciate constructive criticism. I have a couple of Dramione multi chapter stories half written down, so if this is received well I will seriously consider publishing them.

_**.**_

_Father father let me love you_

_You've gone too far from what I know_

_I lost my heart in the dark with you_

_Father father, why you let me go?_

_**.**_

The city streets of Lausanne were quiet. The sun was beginning to set; the misty clouds glowed a violent red which was mesmerising. Striding through the dipping light was a tall blond figure in a long black cloak. The figure movved along the narrow streets, his feet clicking quietly against the cobbled stones.

Eventually the man reached the edge of a graveyard, carefully swinging the metal gate open. The loud creaking sound of the gate seemed almost offensive to the harmonious silence of the grassy fields. The figure walked across the grass, taking care to avoid stepping on other graves. The uncertainty in his bearing suggested that he had not walked this path before. Within a short space of time, the man had arrived at the gravestone he sought. The man read the words engraved into the thick stone, his expression unreadable.

_Lucius Malfoy_

_Beloved Husband and Father_

_1938 - 2004_

_"He who doesn't fear death only dies once."_

Lucius Malfoy had lived out the last years of his life in Lausanne. The city is placed within Romandy, the French speaking part of Switzerland. After Voldemort's defeat, Lucius had never truly recovered. Some war wounds never truly heal. Instead of facing his demons in England, Lucius chose to abandon his home in favour of a remote lifestyle in Lusanne.

Narcissa did not go with him.

Draco Malfoy now stood before his father's gravestone.

"Hello father," Draco said. "How are you? I don't know if you are listening to this, but it seems to be the done thing to talk to the deceased tombstones. Odd tradition, but Hermione seemed to think it would do me good. "

Draco's voice was calm and even, as if this speech had been practised. The only thing he couldn't hide was the look of suffering resting in the deep grey of his eyes.

"Abraxas is growing from strength to strength. He's beautiful, just like his mother. Full head of blond ringlets and a grin that would put the cheshire cat to shame. He's only three and yet already bossing my staff about at head office. Born leader, that one. Knowing my abysmal luck, the sod is going to be sorted into Gryffindor. That boy is bloody fearless. He's far too much like his mother."

He paused, brushing some soil away from the base of the stone.

"Having a son has completely changed my perspective, you know. I always thought it was one of those pathetic soppy things women told you to encourage you to have babies. Even when I married Hermione I still thought I would chase after my old lifestyle in some way. That I would miss the freedom, the late nights and wreckless abandonment. Now, all I can do some nights is stare at my son and wonder how I could have possibly produced this precious little thing."

"I know I will never be quite the son you wish me to be. I understand that I will never be enough. Whatever I do, I will always be a little too weak in your eyes. You see, father, you see humility and love as weaknesses. You don't realise that these qualities are why the other side bested us. I have grown to accept that. I accept you. I love _you._ I just hope that one day, if you are watching, that you can learn to accept me too."

He gave a weak half smile before sinking onto one knee to place the bouquet of white roses against the tombstone.

"If you can see this, you are probably rolling your eyes in disgust. I know you hated flowers. Funny, isn't it, how flowers seem so appropriate now."

Draco rose and brushed his trousers off with his white fingers.

"Perhaps one day I will bring Abraxas to see you. Perhaps not. The wonderful thing about today is that I will return to a home filled with love and what you think _doesn't matter._"

**.**

Draco had taken a portkey back to England before apparating onto the grounds of his London townhouse. Hermione had made it clear that she never wanted to live at Malfoy Manor, and Draco would never push her on it. Some scars were just too deep. This townhouse suited them perfectly. Pushing the front door open, Draco headed for the kitchen where he could hear the sounds of pots and pans as well as Abraxas consistent chatter.

Draco opened the kitchen door to see his young, lovely wife dancing around the kitchen as she washed up the crockery left over from dinner whilst Abraxas watched her from the kitchen table curiously, playing with his toy dragons.

What Draco absolutely _loved _about his family was that the enormous house always seemed so full of life, despite being occupied by only three people. The reserved and intimidating air that had surrounded his childhood home found no place here. As he stood there, contentedly watching his beautiful family, Abraxas looked up and noticed his father.

"Daddy!" he exclaimed, pointing towards Draco. Draco smiled and leant over to give Abraxas a kiss on the forehead.

"Hi Abraxas, still playing with that Hungarian Horntail? You _would _prefer the one Potter fought in the Triwizard Cup."

"It's Unca Charlie's favourite too," he grinned impishly.

"Of course it is," sighed Draco, before looking up to see his wife staring down at him. For someone so small she was awfully good at looking intimidating.

"Ah, Abraxas, looks like your father _finally _decided to show up," Hermione said in a disapproving tone which Draco knew wasn't really serious. She walked forward to greet him and he took her chin in his hand, planting a kiss on her lips.

"I missed you," he murmured huskily against her lips.

"You too," she replied softly, before drawing away slightly. "You're home awfully late from work though... Is there anything wrong?"

Draco lightly tapped her on the nose.

"Still as nosy as ever, Granger," he teased.

"You can't blame me for wondering," she sniffed.

Draco smirked. "Were you sitting around all evening lamenting my loss? I know your life is exceedingly dull without my presence in it."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Still as conceited as ever, Malfoy," she replied in a high pitched imitation of his words earlier.

He smiled. "For the brightest witch of our age, that was an appalling demonstration of wit. No, but to answer your question, I went to visit my father's grave."

Hermione looked up, eyes wide. "Oh!"

"Yes."

"I see..." she mumbled, more to herself than to him. "Well, I am very glad you went at last. Your mother will be pleased."

"I only went because you told me to," was Draco's response.

Hermione took a step back, feigning horror. "Draco Lucius Malfoy! Since when have you ever done anything just because I _told you to_! Are you feeling quite alright?" she asked, feeling his forehead dramatically.

"Hilarious," he remarked dryly.

"I am the brightest witch of our generation, you know," she joked.

"Really? You should have said something."

She gave him a playful shove.

"Now, could you put Abraxas to bed please? I'm nearly finished in here. Oh, and seeing as I've done nothing all day but sit around... What was it? Yes, sit around _lamenting your loss_, perhaps once you're finished you can show me how much excitement I've been missing."

Draco grinned. "I'll have Abraxas ready and into bed within two minutes."

"Daddy... I don't want to go to bed!" Abraxas moaned.

"Tough luck, champ," Draco replied, already hauling Abraxas out of his chair and over his shoulder, Abraxas' chubby fingers still clutching onto the Hungarian Horntail toy. The door was thrown violently open shortly followed by the sound of footsteps thundering up the three flights of stairs to Abraxas' bedroom.

Hermione turned back to the sink, contentment resting on her features.

Their family wasn't perfect; Draco and Hermione had both had to face the consequences of choosing a life that had not been intended for them and the hardships that came with it. Despite this, it was not often that one came across lovers who had endured so much and yet could still truly _live._

.

Lucius Malfoy's rotting body lay beneath the ground, cold and alone in the wet soil of Lausaunne. Eventually, from his decomposing form flowers would grow and through them his soul would live on.

fin

.

.

.


End file.
